How It All Began
by DisneyBeatleTurtlefan94
Summary: My Beatle fanfic-HOW IT ALL BEGAN : You may have also seen it on Deviantart. Enjoy:D
1. Chapter 1

It was 6:32 in the morning when a young Paul McCartney reached his arm sleepily from outside his covers, searching about the night-stand trying to kill the annoying buzzing noise his alarm clock was making. Apparantly, his reached was too far fetched, for Paul then fell out of his bed with an "UMPH!", bumping his head on the floor, and shaking the night table just enough so that the alarm clock (which was procariously angled just over the ledge) fell of the stand and hit McCartney in the head with a "DOING!".

"Oi..." Paul moaned tiredly as he rubbed his now swollen head. As he began swearing under his breath, Paul stood up, kicked the alarm clock, and walked over the the bathroom mirror.

He took a look in the mirror, bright hazel eyes a bit blurry and tired, and examined himself. His childlike face was tired and a bit rugged from tossing around in his sleep and what not. First he rubbed his eyebrows back into shape, and then searched for the toothbrush.

"*GARGLE, GARGLE, GARGLE* pfffft!" After he had succesfully cleaned his teath, he got a handful of water and dowsed his soft, slightly freckled face with it. Paul then grabbed the comb and parted his dark brown hair like he usually did.

"Now," Paul said, a bit more awake, "For the uniform...oh, joy," he said sarcastically.

He first took off his pajama bottoms to reveal a pair of briefs that were quickly covered over by his cacky pants. He then removed his shirt that was worn over his white tank top to reveal his slender, fit upper exterior, and placed over it a dark-blue shirt with a colorful emblem marked with a "B" for Burstol High School.

Quickly then, Paul laced on his shoes, took a quick look in the full-length mirror on the inside of his door, slung his backpack on over his right shoulder, winked at himself, and lept out the room.

He ran downstairs to front door and looked out the window before he left just to simply admire the view of the outside world. Just before he'd officially set out on his merry way, his ears came across a shrill...

"Oh, JAAAAAAAAAAMES"

"Ugh," Paul sighed. "Wot, Mum?!"

"You fugot yeh lunch, luv", Paul's mother chirped sweetly as she scurried over to her not-so-little boy- who now towered over her by about five inches-with an overstuffed lunch bag held in her little hand.

"There you are, dear," Mrs. McCartney said sweetly as she handed him his lunch.

"I packed yeh fav'rite: Tyuna fish and pepper chips."

"Sounds...great, Mum," Paul lied through clenched teeth and a phony smile.

"Oh, anything for me li'l Jimmy," Paul's mother cooed as she sloppily kissed her son on the cheek.

"Y'IiIcCkK," Paul squealed as he wiped the saliva from his cheek.

"Mum," Paul moaned, " I told ya I hate that name!"

"It's a fine name, James-Paul McCartney, and you'll wear it proudly," his mother scolded.

"Fine, fine-but when there's othehs around, could ya just stick ta 'Paul'? " Paul pleaded.

"Oh, alroight," Mrs. McCartney replied blatanly, "but...yeh'll always be me little Jimmy," she added, pinching her son tightly on the cheek.

"MUM!!" Paul whined, "I'm gonna be late feh class!"

"Right! Sorry, lovey. Now, you go on ahead and 'ave a great day, sweet'art," she said with a kiss.

"Thanks, Mum. Ta tah!" Paul said with a leap, running out the door at the speed of light.

"So long, dear," Mrs. McCartney said quietly to herself, watching her little boy run down the block: Just before rememebering something...  
"WAAAAIT!" She cried.

"oh, bloody-WHAT, MUTHAH?!" Paul cried back in exasperation.

"Ya didn't botha t'eat any breaky!"

"I'll fetch somethin' at Lennon's, Mum- I'm runnin' VERY late!"

"Alright, but be sure to thank 'is Auntie!"

"Will do, Mum! Buh-bye," Paul cried- his voice faded out because he yelled it as he was running.

Mrs. McCartney just stood in the doorway, shaking her head as she went back inside the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Paul raced around the corner of his block on his quest to pick up his friend for school. Not missing a step in his timing, Paul looked down at his wrist-watch. 7:24, it read.

"Damn," Paul said, though with the pace he was running at it sounded more like a pant. Across the block he flew. Down the street, up the curb, past old Mrs. Fletcher's place, and through the garden of her neighbor's.

A light sweat Paul had broken into, what with running all those blocks he had to run before he reached John's house. His best friend ever since they were just lads. And every day since Paul's mother and John's aunt allowed them, they two would walk to school every blasted day together, and today wasn't going to be any different, Paul thought to himself.

Finally, after a good twenty minutes of running-no, SPRINTING-Paul had made it to Lennon's place. He went up to the door of the cute little white house and walked in. He saw no use of the doorbell, seeing that he and John were so close that Paul just felt like part of the family: John's home was his home, and vice-versa.

Paul walked into the kitchen, still breathing heavily, to find somebody (a rather famliar somebody) sitting in a chair with their nose stuck in the morning paper. Paul tried to catch his breathe before greeting the figure.

"*gasp* Good mo-"

"Ya late, lad," John stated, still not looking up from his paper, in a monotone that wreaked of condesendence.

"Well-*gasp*-sorry mate, me-*gasp*-bloody mutha was ridin' me all-*gasp*-mornin'!"

John put down the paper to reveal himself. His dark brown eyes looked up at him with a question. His left eyebrow arched as he stood up to examine his sweaty friend. He noticed that his friend's breathing was heavy and he had one hand on the counter supporting himself.

"What'id ya do, Paul, run a bloody marathon?!" John scolded, helping his friend over to a chair at the table.

"Sit 'ere and try to take in some Oxygen, eh somethin'," he added, getting Paul a glass of water. John handed Paul a handkerchief to wipe off some of the sweat with, and placed down the water on the table and watched his friend gulp it down like nobody's business. Then after finishing that glass, Paul ran up to the sink to refill it with more, and was now leaning on the sink gussling down water and gasping for air every minute or so, before pouring more, that is.

"Christ, McCartney, save some feh the fish!"

"*gulp**gulp*-Sorry," Paul said with a hiccup.

"Pa-haul," John laughed, "What'm I gonna do with you?"

Paul shrugged with a cocky smile and looked down at his watch again.

"Oh, fah heaven's sake, it's a quahtah t'eight!" Paul cried.

"Well, then we've gotta get goin', then," John said, flinging his backpack over his shoulder, "We've still got Geo to pick up yet."

"Oh- 'ave you any leftovehs?"

"Now what kinda bloody question is that, McCartney?"

"A kinda question ye'd ask when yah fugot t'eat breaky," Paul replied looking down at his feet.

"Oh, brothuh! Well, we've only chicken-will that do?" John shrugged, then quickly noticing that Paul was not in the original spot he was standing in about 5 seconds ago, and was now raiding his fridge of a small chicken.

"Sounds fab t' me," Paul said, scurrying out the door with the chicken leg held tightly in his teeth.

John just stared for a moment, then looked away, shrugged, and ran out of the kitchen and past John's aunt who was dusting.

"Thank you kindly, fa th' chicken, m'am, " Paul cried as he ran out the door. John followed suit, and stopped to peck his auntie a 'goodbye' kiss on the cheek, then followed his friend out the front door and down the block to the Harrison residence.


	3. Chapter 3

Paul and John walked contently, hands in their pockets, along the block. George lived just up the street from John, so they'd be there within about five minutes.

"D'you understand that math we worked on yesteday, John?" Paul asked.

"Yeh askin' me," John scoffed, "Feh! How should I know what 'x' equals? When we evah gonna use that, anyway, roight?"

"Ya got me," Paul added, pointing to a little green house, "Ah-ha! Here we are!"

The two boys had reached George's place, and politely rang the doorbell-patiently waiting on the front stoop for somebody to come answer it.

"Well," Mrs. Harrison said cheerfully, "Hello, dears! 'Ow 'ave you been?!" she cried giving each of the boys giant hug.

"Quite well, Mrs. Harrison, thank you," Paul replied with a cough, seeing that she was squeezing him quite hard.

"How are you?" John added.

"Oh, alroight, love, thank yeh! Now, Oi'll bet yeh not 'ere jus' to start convesation with me, eh?" she smiled with a wink.

"Well, we're here to pick up George, m'am: feh school?" Paul said.

"I'll go an' fetch 'im dears," Mrs. Harrison replied with a big smile. She then turned her head and let out a very high pitched, screachy...

"GEOOORGIEEE!!"

Even though the sound was directed inside, it still stung John and Paul's eardrums like buzzing bees when you've stepped on a flower they were pollinating. Of course, this was to be expected. Both the boys knew the Harrison's too well not to know that though Mrs. Harrison was small, she was LOUD!

"I'm right 'ere, fa cryin' out loud," George said to her softley, placing a hand on his little, plump mother's shoulder.

"'Ello, boys, how have yeh-"

"George, y' haven't any time t' be socialisin'! Now, it's ten t' eight, an' if you boys wanna get t' school on time, I suggest ya save the chattah feh homeroom and get a move on!"

"Yes ma'am," Paul and John cried simultanseously.

"Yes, ma'am," George moaned as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. The three boys then stepped off the front stoop, when Mrs. Harrison let out another-

"ooh, GEOOOOOORGIEEEEE! You fugot yoh kissey-kissey!!"

"Yes, Georgie," Paul added, " 'You fugot yoh kissey-kissey'," John said, mimicking Mrs. Harrison high, shrill voice.

"Why I oughta-" George whispered sharply under his breathe as he raised his fist, only to be dismissed by another-"GEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOORGE!"

"Oh, bothuh," George walked back up his stoop and kissed his mother on the cheek, and she in return gave him several very sloppy ones back. Paul and John couldn't help but giggle when George walked down from the stoop and found that his bony face was covered with "kissey-kissey" marks of red lipstick. John, being the smartass that he is, was about to crack a joke regarding his friend's lipstick covered face, but just as he was about to let it out, George turned about face and said very seriously, "NOT...A WORD, WINSTON."

The boys then started up the walk, and all John could do was stare at George's face, bottling up his laughter.

"*snort* Umm...'eyGeo," John managed to choke out.

"Hmm?" George looked over at them both with his face all out of sorts. McCartney placed a hand over his mouth and tried helplessly to stifle the laughter.

"Here," John handed George a handkerchief, "Clean yeself up, will ya?" John said with a loud laugh. Then McCartney joined in with his chortling as well.

"OOOOO!!..." George growled, wiping his red, embarrassed face with the handkerchief, and then let out a sigh and said, "*sigh* Thanks, fellas."

"No problem....'GEORGIE'!! BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!" Paul chuckled hardly; as did John. And pretty soon, George had gotten fed up with being angry and decided to join in.

"Now, if you divide 'y' by the coefficient of 'b', then 'x' should be the probable ansah 7," George tutored, holding a book spread across his arms trying to explain the math homework the boys had had the night before.

"Amazing," Paul said.

"Y' mean ya get it?!" George cried out, excited for his friend.

"No," John said, jealously, "Amazin' that you bein' a full year younguh then us an' know our math bettah than we know it."

"It's just a simple Algebra problem," George shrugged, "Nothin' to it."

"An' he did skip a grade, Lennon," Paul chimed in, "So, technically, it's his math, as well."

"A blinkin' 15-year old juniuh-ridiculous to the last detail, I say," John frowned, crossing his arms.

"Then pehaps you don't NEED my Algebra help, afterall, " George replied, closing the book shut and placing it back in his bag, "There's no need to be sore jus' 'cuz ya missed the cut-off, John, and should really be a senior, an' whatnot..."

"Alroigh', Harrison- ya gonna shut it, or m'I gonna 'ave te shut it foh yeh," John threatened, getting nose-to-nose with George.

"Eh! Knock it off, you two, or I'll- Say, look there, lads," Paul said, "Nearly there, alright," and at last, within their vision was their very own Borstol High...


	4. Chapter 4

John, Paul and George walked up the giant white steps that led into their huge school house. It resembled the White House, but had the British flag in front and wasn't quite as large. Young teens were scattered amongst the steps: all the boys wearing just the same as one another, and as were the girls. Small cliques were found chatting and laughing, and on occasion you'd come across two love-strucken teens kissing passionately. All of the kids were hanging about on the steps, by the bike racks- some even in the trees, contently awaiting the school-bell to ring. It was ten-to-eight when Paul looked down at his watch. Just in time, he thought to himself. When he noticed George shivering.

"Brrr...I-it's b-b-bloomin' f-freezin' out 'ere," George complained, hugging himself for warmth.

"W-w-whaddya expect, it's friggin' N-n-novembah," John shivered, rubbing his cold arms rapidly, trying to create a friction to warm them, "Oh, why the bloody 'ell are they makin' us wait outside in the freezin' cold when it's blinkin' five-to-eight?!"

"A fella could get used t' this kinda weatha'," Paul said, his body shaking slitely from cold, when he noticed a young lady walk across his, holding her arms and shivering, when Paul wrapped one arm around her shoulder and swooned with a wink, "Stick with me, lass, an' you'll always be warm."

The girl just stared at him for a moment, smiled a little, wriggled from his grip slightly, then (the smile quickly retreating from her face and into an angry frown) slapped Paul harshly across the face and walked away with a "Hmph!"

Paul just stood there, rubbing his swollen red cheek staring back at the girl, letting out a rather disappointed sigh. Then John and George, who were nearly rolling on the ground with laughter after Paul's quite literal 'hit-and-miss', the two noticed their friend's discouragement, and walked over to the broken-souled Paul.

"Don' feel down, Mac," George comforted, placing a hand on Paul's left shoulder.  
"Yeah, there 're plen'y o' birds like HER around 'ere," John added, " Besides, y' can tell she stuffs, anyways. The gal was born with tits like 'at? I think not." slightly jutting his elbow into Paul's ribcage.

As Paul laughed his embarrassing moment off, the bell wrang and the students flooded inside. Once the boys were in, the first thing they did was go to their lockers, which were convenientally next to eachothers', and grabbed their books for first period.

"So, lads, practice fo' the talent show afteh school t'day," George asked eagerly.

"Fat lot a' good it'd do us," John replied, "No drummah, 'membuh?"

"I still don't understand why would Pete quit," Paul added curiously, "I mean-really, why would ya quit a band, one week before yeh school's bloody talent show, mind you, that yeh've been in fo-"

"Oh, I'll tell ya why," John interrupted, angrily, " It's all 'cuz 'at Best is nothin' more than a bast-"

"Mr. Lennon?!"

All of a sudden, Mrs. Bitterly approached the boys, her wrinkley lips tight with disgruntled hate for each of them, and elderly eyes that resembled a hawk's whick glared at you in a way that such hawks do before killing their pray. John, yelped in suprised, then quickly tried to cover up the swear with laughter, as Paul and George put on their best 'good-little-boy' they could muster.

"AHHH-ha-ha! Mrs. Bitterly, and lookin' lovely as evah I might add! Haha! Isn't she, lads," John said through clenched teeth.

"Uh-humm..OOF," George muttered worriedly before receiving an elbow to the gut by Paul.

"Indeed...lovely," George choked out, heaved over by the pain his stomach was now afflicted with.

"'How are you this mornin', ma'am," Paul asked, trying his best to seem cute and eager.

"I would be doing much better, boys, if you were IN HOMEROOM INSTEAD OF DODDLING ABOUT THE HALLS AFTAH THE BELL RANG!!!" Mrs. Bitterly spat in their faces.

"But, with all due respect, Mrs. Bitterly, the bell didn't-" But Paul was interrupted by the loud school bell echoing through the halls.

"*gulp*...ring."

"Naughty boys," Mrs. Bitterly said, waggling her long, crusty old finger to and frow, "Yeh should know bettah than t' roamin' the halls when there's lessons to be had."

"It's bloody homeroom, fah cryin' out loud," John cried, his temper getting the best of him, "Wot 'lessons'?"

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Lennon-INSIDE!!" she yelled, directing her arm and her index finger to the door to their homeroom.

"Yes, ma'am," Paul apologized sarcastically, walking through the door.

"Yeesh," George whispered following suit.

"Old bat," John muttered under his breath, until he heard a shrill-

"WHAT WAS THAT, MR. LENNON? I DON'T BELIEVE I-"

" ALL AH SAID WAS 'SORRY, MA'AM'!" John yelled back at her, before turning back around and mummbling, "Jesus, Christ! Ol' bitch is gonna give me a bloomin' heart murmur, o' somethin'..."

John then took his seat with the gang at his assigned desk- John furthest to the left, George in the middle, then Paul- and continued their previous conversation about the talent show.

"I still wanna know why Best quit," George said rather sternly, "So if you lads don't mind it none, just for me own knowledge, I'm askin' 'im next time 'e crosses me path why 'e quit."

"I won't be offended of ya tah ask the little bloke why 'e quit, Geo, but t' be hones', lads, I don' have fuckin' care in the world about Pete from 'ere on out," John exclaimed in a very angry tone, "All ah know is if I eveh see 'is turdy li'l rat face again, Oi'll smack 'im so hard, the cunt won' even know wot hit 'im."

" 'At's fine," Paul interjected, "But let's focus on more important mattuhs, shall we?"

"Without a drummah, we can't possibley do the show... can we?" George interrupted worriedly.

"Nah, Geo- I'm afraid we can't," John sighed, placing a hand on George's shoulder, "So I s'pose our only solution is to jus' go ahead an' find ourselves a new one."

" 'Find a new one'," Paul asked, surprised, "But 'ow?"

"Easy," John answered, "We'll ask 'round, see if anyone's in'trested, an' if they've any drummin' hist'ry, tell 'im ta give us a ring. 'Oweveh, like Paul said, let's focus on more impohtant mattuhs."

"Such as?" George asked curiously, arching his thick left eyebrow.

"Such as-well, Geo-when 'ave you got Algebra?"

"Fouhth period...WHY?"

"Well, I's jus' a bit curious- see, there's 'is lad in me eighth period Algebra class who fugot to do 'is homework, and I'm sure he'd be greatful is you could-"

"NO, JOHN."

"Aw, c'mon, Harrie, why not?!"

"'Cuz, John, all ye'd be doin' is lyin' to yerself. Homework's s'posed to help ya learn. If ya use MY homework for YOUR grade, what 'ave ya learned from that?"

"That I'm a pretty damn-good lier." John replied confidently.

As the two continued to bicker, Paul just looked around the room boredly. He looked to the front of the room: same old teacher's desk. He looked to the back: same old chalkboard. He looked to his left: same old idiot friends. He looked to the right: same old new kid.

"Hang on a minute!" Paul thought to himself. "That can't be right! Who is that?"

He'd never seen him before, but to the right of him was a scrawny little brown haired boy with an unusually large nose, which was sniffling, and a set of two Sapphire-blue eyes. Though Paul couldn't tell exactly how tall the lad was, he reckoned no taller than John. He had a small white streak going through his dirt-colored hair, and kept very quiet and to himself. Still inspecting the boy, Paul noticed the kid's foot tapping to a very rythmic beat all his own. The boy glanced Paul, and Paul tried to turn away as quickly as he could without the new kid realizing he was studying him.

"Don't look back, McCartney, don't look back-" but he couldn't help it. He wanted to see if the new kid was mouthing curse words at him or plotting to put a beatdown on Paul for staring at him. Paul had once a bad encounter with a new kid that he stared at for too long a time, and, well, got a visit from the Tooth-Fairy a little bit earlier than he should have. So, Paul slowly turned back facing the boy, awaiting what would happen. The new kid looked Paul in the eyes...and gave him a little wave. Paul was a bit confused by the quirkieness of this kid, but decided to be greatful that he wasn't the violent type and waved back. The boy then smiled-not only with his mouth, but with his droopy puppydog eyes, as well-coughed, and turned back to the front of the room.

Paul then turned back around to his friends, who were still going at it, and brought their attention to the new kid.

"Any a' you seen 'im before," Paul asked, gesturing with his head back to the direction of the new kid.

"Hmmmmm," George and John hummed in wonder, glancing quickly over at the new kid.

"Nope," George shrugged.

"Neveh seen 'im before in me life..." John said, scratching his head.

The bell for first period rang, and as the new kid got up, he sneezed a loud "HERASHOO" and coughed into the crooked of his elbow. The poor lad was coughing so hard, he fell back down in his chair.

"But, 'e looks loike quite a sickly felleh, t' tell yeh the truth," John added with a laugh as he rose from his seat.

The lad then got up, checked around to see if anybody had noticed, and left the room quickly.

As the bell rang, all of the students exited their homerooms and into the hustling-bustling school hallways.

"See you fellahs at lunch, eh?" George called as he was walking down the left corridor.

"Yeh betcha," John called standing outside his homeroom door with Paul at his side, "But, maybe nex' time, Geo, ya' might wanna talk a bit loudah, eh? Don't think the kids in China heard yeh- ya might make 'em feel bad," John said with a laugh, looking over at Paul. He noticed that he Paul had on his thinking face-hand on his chin, eyes staring at the ground. "'Eh Paul, " John said, nudging Paul.

"Hmm-Wha'?"

"Alroigh', Mac, wot's on that mind o' yours?"

"I jus' can't 'elp be ratheh curious 'bout that new kid. 'E looked aweful lonely, that 'e did. Poor lad..."

" 'Poor lad', my aunt Petunia! Now, let's get a move on before we're marked tardy- AGAIN! First period's 'bout to start any minute now! Look-don't worry about 'im, Paul- I'm SURE the boy's gon' make 'imself some friends. Now, I don' know 'bout you, McCartney, but I'm headin' to class before Bitterly comes by on 'er broomstick again. See ya at lunch, and don't worry 'bout that new lad-he'll be just fine," John said before running down the right corridor.

"I hope so," Paul sighed as he walked slowly down the center corridor.


	5. Chapter 5

The clock on the classroom wall of B-7 read 11:46 when George Harrison took to his seat for fourth period- Algebra class. He sat down and got out his homework, a number two pencil, and his calculator before finally settling down. George looked aimlessley about the room, only to find that two rows over sat Pete Best: ex-drummer of his, John's, and Paul's band (which still needed a name, by the way). George was about to approach Pete, when the bell rang, and cheerful Mrs. Smith walked in.

"Alright, class, we've got a new student joinin' our class. Won't you come up an' introduce yehself?"

The entire class looked over the the left side of the room where a seat that had always been empty was now filled by a scrawny little blue-eyed boy. The SAME blue-eyed boy who Paul had mentioned something about in home-room earlier today. The boy sat there in his chair, face bright red with embarrassment, and muttered a quiet, nasily, "Do ah 'ave ta?"

"Oh, come now-it's not so bad! Jus' come up 'ere an' say yah name."

The new kid walked up to the front of the class and mumbled "myfnmeisrishhurdstr-"

"We can't hear ya, dear."

The boy then sighed, cleared his throat and said, "Me name is Richard Starkey...."

The entire class was staring at him, waiting for anything else he was going to share.

"Umm..." A red-faced, now sweating Richard, "'At's 'bout it."

"Bet the lad's not even 5'0"," Pete whispered loudly so that both George and Richard could hear.

"Thank you, Mr. Starkey. You may sit down now," Mrs. Smith then turned to the board and began writing down equations.

As walked back over in his seat, Richard walked over the Pete's desk, looked him straight in the eye, and whispered nastilly, "I 'appen to be 5'4", act'ially."

Pete, startled as ever, raised his hand to taddle.

"Mrs. Smith! Richard's not sitting in 'is assigned seat."

Mrs. Smith looked over at Richard, and he then knelt down to the floor, as if he were searching for something.

"Drat! Where'n earth did me pencil scurry off to?"

Mrs. Smith ignored the comotion and turned back to the board. Richard then stuck out his toungue to Pete, turned about-face and walked back to his seat next to George. And George was just having a gay old time: laughing at the comedy act that the new kid-that RICHARD-had just put on over Pete, even though he knew very well that he had a lot of answers to fish out of him.

"Alright, class- 5 minutes left in the period. And since you were all very well behaved, I believe that you should be rewahded with a bit o' free time!" Mrs. Smith cried cheerfully as she left the classroom.

Five minutes of free time to George meant 5 minutes of explaining from Pete. He casually walked over to Pete, and even though Best was amongst a large crowd of people. Pete was laughing, joking around with his chums when Harrison's stare set in. Pete could feel the intensity burning from George's stone-cold eyes, and, though he'd never admit, was a bit frightened. George's stare- it could knock you dead from all the fear that was throbbing within it. However, Pete was never one to admit to his own fears, so he laughed heartily and then broke into a clean frown.

"Harrison." Pete said coldly.

"Best." George nodded, "Let's you an' I 'ave a chat, eh," George wrapped his arm around Pete's collar, gently pulling him aside from the rest of the group of people, when Pete angrily jolted back. One thing that Pete hated more than anything else in the world was being touched.

"Temptin', really," Pete said sarcastically, "But, ah think I'll pass, thank y' very mu-HUAAA-" George then yanked Pete away from the crowd, angrily this time, not realizing how very strong he was. George was usually NEVER one known for anger and violence, but doggonit-he was hopping mad!

"Listen an' listen good, Pete," George pronounced, poking a finger into Pete's chest, "Ya left us high an' dry, lad, an' without a good reason, no less. Now, if yeh maybe explained why ye left, I'd be a bit less desp'rate t' know why ya left, but no reason a' tal, Best!"

George grabbed Pete's arms as he tried to walk away from him, holding him steadily in place. He was going to hear what he had to say, no matter what it took!

"'At's not like you, lad," Harrison said a bit more calmly, " 'S not like the 'Pete Best' I used teh know, or John or Paul. So, c'mon, Pete-drop us a bloody line 'ere! Why'd yeh quit?!"

Best stood there staring at his feet, then looked up into Harrison's explanation-hungry eyes.

"Fine," he finally replied, "D' yeh wanna know the truth? 'Cos once yeh hear it, lad, ya ain't gonna like it."

George nodded 'yes', then looked Pete's sincere smile slowly turning into a devilish frown.

"Think about it, lads! The band wos neveh gonna git anywhere, anyways! We wos jus' kids with a dream-"

"We still are, Pete!" George replied.

"Maybe you are......but I'M not."

George stood there shocked and stunned by what had just escaped his former friend's lips.

"I don't understand: how long 'ad ya felt this way?"

"Since we started, George-"

George thought they were all in this together- one team! As it turned out, the band had themselves a traitor on their hands.

"And ya neveh spoke up about it ONCE!"

"An' wot the bloody 'ell do ya think it'd matter to anyone?! I NEVER called the shots-not once! Nevah! I was born a leadeh, an' in that band I was a followuh!"

"There WERE no 'leadehs-an'-followuhs'-YOU know that! In fact- YOU'D always be the one SUGGESTIN' we should 'ave a leadeh!"

"Well, I-uh," Pete was dumb-strucken.

"Wait a mi- THA'S why you quit, wasn' it?! You couldn't have things YOUR WAY! It was eitheh the 'Pete Best' way, or no way a' tall. Well, bein' in a band ain't all about wot you wanna do, lad. I's all abou' teamwork, so-really and truly- God be with the next band you're in, Best-"

"Oh," Pete interrupted, "I've already found one, thank you. An' we sound a whole lot bettah than "The No-Names!"

"Well then," George said calmly, "I sure do hope that yeh havin' things your way now."

As George walked over the get his books out from under his desk, he looked back up at Pete again.

"Oh, an' jus' a li'l wornin'," George added, "If yeh evah let John catch ya sayin' shite 'bout 'im or the band...he'll slice yeh throat."

Pete and his possy just laughed and laughed, though Pete knew it was very true. They left in a huddle, and on the way out a large friend of Pete's thudded into George, and an even larger one into the new kid, sending him falling to the ground.

"Ooooh," George shuttered, "Blimey. You'll feel tha' in the mornin', eh," he joked offering a hand to help Richard up.

Richard accepted the hand and rose up with the little lift from McCartney.

"Thadks a billiod, lad--HERROSHOUU!"

"Ooh. Sounds like some bad cold yeh've got there, " George said, offering Richard his handkerchief. Richard blew his nose-loudly- and was about to give it back when George looked down on it with a rather disgusted look on his face.

"Eh...you can keep it"

Richard shrugged and stuffed the hankie in his pocket.

"Wait a minute I know that sneeze: Say, you're the lad from me homeroom this mo'nin', aren't yeh, " Paul pointed out rather excitedly.

"Oi, 'at's right!"

"Charmed ta meet ya! Name's George-George Harrison," Georged reached out his hand for a shake.

"Well, charmed as well t' meetcha, George," Richard bubbly said, shooting out his hand, and then bringing it back to his side, "But, em- I think it'd be best if you an' I hold off hand-shakin' 'til Oi'm over this cold, lad."

"Right, right. What class 'ave yeh got next: maybe I could show ye 'round a bit," George piped up eagerly, looking over at Richard's schedule.

"Well, Oi reckon ah've got lunch, I think," Richard replied, turning the paper upside down and sideways.

"Ya reckon?"

"Well, 'at's what some lad told me last class when Oi asked 'im what this all said."

"You mean-you mean, you can't READ?" George stared at the smiling, blue-eyed sickly child.

"Sick a lot as a boy, ya kno'. Didn't start kinnie-gahten til Oi turned 12, tha's a story fo' anotheh toime, Oi'm afraid. But a few words Oi can make out pretty well-off, i's jus' 'em big words I gotta worry 'bout." Richard said with a smile.

"Ah, I see. Well, alright then. I've got luch next, 's well! You can sit at out table if ye'd like."

"Who's atcha table?"

"Well, you saw those lads in home-room t'day? Sittin' behind the dark haired boy bickering? Well, HIS name was Paul, and the other ones bickerin' about behind 'im was John an' I."

"Wait...did 'e have sort of a fat head?" Ringo asked in all seriousness.

"Haha! That's John! So, whaddya say- care to accompany me?" Geroge said gesturing towards the door.

"Well, alroight," Richard said, then stopped, "But jus' so you an' Oi 're on th' same page 'ere, an' be sure to letcha friends know as well...oy, I don' know how t' tell ya this lad, but.....i'm not a queer."

George just stared at Ringo who was staring down at his feet before cracking up laughing.

"WOT THE BLOODY 'ELL ARE YOU TA-HALKIN' ABOUT?!" George cried with laughter, "WE'RE NOT QUEER, EITHEH! HA-HAAA!!"

"YEH NOT?!"

"NO-HO! HAHA, oh-good lord: You thought we was queer?!"

"Well, the way you and yeh mates kept starin' at me in home-room, Oi thought-"

"No no NO!! hahahahaha!!! ah...." George sighed, wiping tears from his eyes, placing a friendly arm around Starkey's small shoulder, "C'mon, Richard- let's go fetch some lunch, I'm starvin'."


	6. Chapter 6

George and Richard walked down a narrow corridor surrounded by lockers until they reached a fork in the path and headed right. The two walked through a set of two large doors which held a sign above that read 'CAFETERIA', and Richard was just baffled. So many kids in one room at a time! So much chaos...he liked it. Richard looked all around the large room, noticing everyone doing their own little thing with their own little groups. He saw the long, snake-like lines coiling out of the kitchen doors and listened intentively to all of the jibber-jabber of the students. George stopped to looked down at Richard, (he had to look down-Richard was so short!) noticing how confused and surprised he was.

"Bloimey," Richard whispered, "Lot a' kids in 'ere, eh?"

"Ya get used to it," George added, "Look! There's Paul," he cried out as he noticed Paul smiling and waving to him from across the room. George smiled as he waved back and then gently grabbed Richard's arm, pulling him in the direction of their table.

"Quick-let's grab them seats befoh they've been taken."

Richard hesitated slightly and then looked up at George with big blue eyes. Then he grabbed George's arms tightly, and gently shook him as he asked worriedly, "Lad- are you POSITIVE you an' 'im ain't queer?"

"Oh, wouldjeh stop it, already," George laughed, "Now c'mon!"

George and Richard then walked over to the table where Paul and John were sitting. John was sitting to the left of Paul, stuffing his face with a peanut-butter sandwhich, and Paul was about to unwrap his lunch that his mother packed for him, when he looked up and saw that George was not walking over alone.

" 'Ey, John."

John looked up with a mouth stuffed full of peanut butter, so all he could come out with was "Mfhmph?"

"Douse down some milk, lad- our little Georgie's got 'imself a new friend."

John then took a swig from his milk carton and looked over at George and his new, short, companion.

"Well, I'll be," John muttered, " Neveh knew that George was act'ially' Geo The Queermo'," he said with a laugh.

Paul pegged a potato chip at John's face.

"OW! Oi!!" John retorted, rubbing his forhead.

"That'll be enough a' that, Len."

"Aw, c'mon- I w's only jokin'!"

"Now, John, be nice. An' mind yeh mannuhs."

"Yes, Mum."

George walked over to his two friends with Richard and sat down in an empty seat next to Paul, while Richard sat in the empty chair near John. John looked over at Richard, glaring for a moment when Richard look up at him and John put on a goofy smile.

" 'Ello, gov'nah," John greeted Richard with a funny look on his face.

"Hullo," Richard replied bashfully.

"So, George," Paul piped up, unpeeling a banana, " Who's this?"

"Oh, this is Richard Starkey. He's in me Algebra cla-"

"Ooh! Speakin' a' Algebra, George do y' maybe 'ave-"

"NO, JOHN! An' besides- she didn't check it, anyways."

"Alroight! In the clear!" John cheered, turning to Richard holding his hand high in the air for a high-five. Richard just looked at John like he had three heads, and John put his hand down feeling a bit foolish.

"So," George said, trying to break the ice, "How d' ya like Burstol High?"

"Not too bad off, so fah, thanks," Richard replied with a smile.

"Hm...Y' know I can't 'elp but feel like we've met before," Paul stated curiously, "What element'ry school didja go to?"

"None," Richard replied with a laugh, "I was ho-ho--HERASHOO!"

"Bless," John said as he handed Richard a napkin from his lunch bag to use as a tissue. After he wiped his nose, Richard finished, "*sniff* Home schooled."

"Ah- NOW I rememah! You're the new lad from home-room, aren't yeh," Paul exclaimed, pointing at Richard.

"Oi, that's right! An' YOU'RE the lad'oo kept starin' me down, ain't yah?" Richard said, raising his right eyebrow.

"Hehe, yeah," Paul replied, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "Sorry 'bout all that, mate."

" 'S alroight, boy. No harm, no foul- 'ey?" Richard said with a wink.

"Right. Well, darn pleased t' OFFICIALLY meetcha, Starkey," Paul remarked, reaching out a hand to Richard.

"The feelin's mutual...ehm-"

"McCartney. Paul McCartney."

"Act'ially," John added cheekily looking over at Richard, " 'Is real name i-"

"WINSTON?!!"

"Fine, lad- fine! No need ta get in such a tizzy," John hastilly replied, " 'E hates 'is name."

"Yes," Paul interrupted angrily, "An' you know I do, John, so keep quiet about it!!"

Then, he bent his head down, waggled his finger for Richard to follow, and as their heads were underneath the table, John whispered, "....James-Paul McCartney the Thi-"

"JOOOOHN!" he heard Paul yell, and he and Richard rose up from underneath the table. John looked at Paul, whose face was red with anger. John merely looked at Paul, cocked his head slightly to the left, and grinned.

"JOHNATHEN WINSTON LENNON-"

"Is 'at ya name," Richard interrupted, reaching out his hand for a shake, "Charmed, Lennon."

"Likewise, Star-"

"John," Paul cried sternly, and John averted his attention back to him, "Why the bloody 'ell do you do that?! I tell ya NOT ta do somethin', an' whaddya do? Ya do it! Yeh like a bloody fourth gradeh, ah swear!"

"Ah, getcha Tidey-Widey's out of a knot, Mackie. He's one of us now, an' 'e deserves ta know yeh full name!"

"One of 'you'?" Richard beamed happily.

"Yer alright, lad," George added, "Let's get more acquanted, eh?"

"Alroight. Em-feh startehs, how old'r all a' yehs?"

"Well, I'm 17 ," Paul answered.

"An' I'm sixteen and a half," George replied.

"The lad's 16," Richard asked turning to John surprisedly, "But 'ow?"

"The kid's smart," John shrugged, "An' I'ma be 18 soon. BUT i's not 'cos ah'm dense, eh nothin'. Missed the damned cut-off, that ah did."

"How 'bout you, Richard," George asked, "How old are you?"

"Well...r'membah how ah told yeh I got sick a lot as a lad?"

"Yes," George replied, "Go on..."

"An'...r'membah how I ALSO told yeh when ah startid kinnie-gah'en?"

"How old were ya?" John asked curiously before guzzling down more of his milk.

"Twelve ya said, right," George said, and not long after George said 'twelve' did Lennon nearly spit out his milk looking over at Richard in shock.

"JOHNATHEN," George scolded.

"No, no- it's alroight, 'e didn't mean ta laugh," Richard replied trying to save John from getting in trouble, "It is kinda funny when yeh think about it."

"So...how old are you," Paul asked.

".....Nointeen...an' a half," Richard answered embarrassedly. All the boys just stared at one another, when John finally spoke up.

"Well....there's no need ta be embarrassed none, Richard," John spoke with confidence and care as he placed his arm around Richard, "B'sides, always wanted an oldeh friend: fa wisdom and whatnot," he added with a wink.

Richard laughed, happy that his new found friends accepted him for who he was-or, rather how old he was, and took a bite of his sandwhich.

George smiled, but it quickly faded away as a huge mosh of people approached the table. One of the people in the mosh being Pete Best. Uh-oh, George thought, Here comes trouble.

"Well, well, well," Pete said, crossing his arms, staring down Richard, "What 'ave we 'ere? A new member of the Bad-Band-Brigade?"

Richard narrowed his crystal-blue eyes at Pete.

"Say there, Best," John said angrily, "Ya plannin' on takin' up Astronomy?"

"That's a pretty mysterious remark, Lennon," Pete replied going face-to-face with John, "Why d'ya ask?"

"Well, let's put it this way," John retorted, quickly rising from his seat, "Astronomy'd probably be easiest fa you c'os if you don't leave Richard be, you'll be seein' stars fah years 'cos a' the fact that I'll 'ave kick ya so 'ard in the-"

"Winston!" Paul yelled angrily through clenched teeth.

"Just ignore 'im, John," George called.

"Stay out of it, fellas," John said sternly, eyes still hooked on Pete's.

"Yeah, fellas," Pete added, "Stay outta this. No use feh birds like you in a man's battle."

John's very short fuse had just blown. He then grabbed Pete by the collar and pick him up by it, pushing him into a wall.

"Don't--you--DARE talk ta MY FRIENDS loi' that," John growled in Pete's face.

Pete looked down at John's hand that was holding him high against the wall. The whole lunch room was staring at Pete and John, and Pete wasn't going to be the one looking like the victim. So, he tried coming up with a snappy come-back.

"An' what exactly are you gonna do about it," Pete replied.

"Don' test me, Pete," John yelled, "You know perfectly damn well that I can kick yeh sorry arse from 'ere to Istamboo!"

Suddenly Pete used his right arm to jab John in the face. John tumbled to the ground instantly, and lay there with a hand covering his face. Paul and George raced over to him, but Richard stayed where he was and watched from a safe distance.

"F-fellas?" John said weakly, slowly raising his head from his hand. His eyes looked dazed and the center of his face was covered in blood.

"Blimey!" George said quietly.

"Oy, poor lad," Paul said under his breath, kneeling to John's level, George trying to support John's back so he could sit up, "Tell me, John, can ya see alright?"

"I-I think so... Who're you, again?"

" It's me, John-PAUL! PAUL!!"

"Oh yeh-heah! An' how've you been?"

"Yeesh," George chimed in, "He hit yeh pretty 'ard then, didn't 'e?"

"Yeh gonna be alright, Lenny," Paul said, helping him up.

Richard then casually walked over to where Pete was standing. He walked past Paul, John, and George, even though they were staring at him curiously to see what he was going to do next. Pete looked down at him, laughed a bit, and said, "Whaddya think yeh doin' over 'ere, Juniuh?"

And after that, it was all a total of three seconds before Richard punched Pete right in the stomach. Once Pete was doubled over on the ground, Richard began kicking him like a soccer ball. Then, he flipped Pete flat on his back and held him down as he looked him straight in the eye with a stare that could burn a hole through a brick wall. His ice-blue eyes were blazing with fury, and he then got nose-to-nose with Pete and demanded sternly in his face, pointing back at where John was standing, "APOLOGIZE."

Pete was now crying, and Paul, George, and John were staring at Richard in disbelief. This was the same shy lad from homeroom? Pete was still sniffling and sobbing out of both fear and pain, when Richard repeated, a bit louder this time, "APOLOGIZE...NOW."

"LET ME GO," Pete sobbed, "LET ME GO!!"

"NOT 'TIL YOU APOLOGIZE, YA DENSE GIT!"

Pete looked up and over at John and let out a loud, whimpy,"ALRIGHT! I'M SORRY!! NOW LET ME UP!!"

Richard let him up, and the whole crowd of people that had been watching the fight began to applaude. Richard took a little bow and walked back over to his friends.

" 'Ow is he?" He asked, trying to see John's face-which was looking down upon the floor.

"Well," Paul replied, "At least he can think clearly now, but it's his nose-"

"It's all bloody and crooked," George remarked.

"Let me get a good look at it, lad," Richard whispered gently as he stuck his hand under John's chin to lift up his head slightly. His nose WAS bloody, and busted up, no doubt. His eyes were tearing up, but by the way John was breathing, you could tell that he was trying to hold back the tears.

He was shaking a bit, recovering from the shock. He had been hit so hard that he nearly forgot who he was. He'd forgotten where he was, what just happened- a total memory laps. The room was spinning quickly: it all just felt like he was walking in through bad, confusing dream that he couldn't wake up from. He was so confused; had no idea what was going on- all he knew was that his face hurt A LOT: and that for once in his life, he-Johnathen Winston Lennon, was really and truly scared. As he trembled, he felt shook a little as Richard placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Now, jus' calm down, lad. No need to get so worked up," Richard said softly, rubbing John's left shoulder blade comfortingly, "Now-can yeh breathe outta yeh nose?"

John's lower lip quivered as he shook his head 'no'. Richard took John's head in his hands and held it steady as examined his face. He held his hand out in front of John's nose, and he flinched with a quiet whimper.

"Shh...shh--Easy," Richard hushed, "Easy, son. It ain't gonna hurt: Ah ain't gonna touch it, alroi'?"

John cleared some of the fright that he was choked up with out of his throat, turned his head away, wiped some of the tears from his eyes, and nodded. He then turned back so Richard could finish examining him. He put his hand back in front of John's nose and moved it back and forth.

"Now, can yeh follow it alroi' with yeh eyes?"

John watched Richard's hand move back and forth: to and frow. And as he kept this up, John noticed the many beautiful rings that Richard had on his hands.

"Well, 's definately broken; don' need t' be a doctor t' know that," Richard diagnosed, pouring some fountain-water on a napkin and giving it to John to clean himself up with, "But, let's 'ave the nurse look at 'im just to be sure."

"We'll be sure to stop at the nurse's office before mine, then," Mr. Waverly, the school principal chimed in. The four boys and a lonely Pete (whose friends had now left him from fear of being taken in by "the man") turned around quickly to find their principal standing behind them with arms crossed and looking VERY unhappy.

"Now, I'm not all sure what happened, but I received word that there was rough-house goin' about in the lunch room and I came as soon as I could," Mr. Waverly explained, "Now, if you boys and Mr. Best would come along with me-"

"Whaaa' ?!" Pete whined.

"Somebody specifically mentioned YOUR name, Mr. Best, when they told me of the fighting."

"HA-ow!" John chimed, still shaken up, but coming to. Then he held his nose in pain.

"Yours as well, Mr. Lennon"

"Aw, bloody-"

"Now, if you five'll come along with me; the sooner we get to my office, the sooner we can discuss what happend-AND your detention," Mr. Waverly said pointing a finger in the direction of the door. The boys followed the finger-first Pete, then Paul, then George, then Mr. Waverly. Richard followed behind Waverly, but was yanked back by John.

"Lad...thanks."

"Aw, feh wot, John?"

"....Everything," John replied following Mr. Waverly. Richard stood there for a moment, shrugged, and followed John suit. Oh, brother, he thought, Detention on the first day of school-Won't Muthuh be proud.


	7. Chapter 7

There the five boys stood in the principal's office. It was a dim room, not very comforting, and the wooden chairs that Richard, John, and Pete were sitting in were extremely uncomfortable. Behind them stood Paul and George, hands behind their backs looking at eachother anxiously.

Pete sat furthest to the right, holding his stomach in pain after the beat-down Richard had just given him. John sat furthest to the left with an ice-pack held up to his face and a small cast on the bridge of his nose, his eyes looking a little blood-shot and teary, but he sat cross-armed and cooley, seeing that this was not his first visit to the pricipal's office before and he felt that if he'd been any calmer, he would be dead.

Richard, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. He sat between John and Pete with his hands held together and he was shaking like mad. John looked over at a very nervous Richard, and placed a hand on his shakey shoulder. Richard looked over at him slowly and John gave him a reassuring smile, when the principal began to speak.

"Now," Mr. Waverly began, "Who started all this nonsense."

The boys looked over at one another, until John stood up and bravely said, "Oi did, sihr."

Principal Waverly looked at John, then back at Paul and George who had been standing behind the three trouble-makers.

"You lads," he said, "What was your role in th-"

"Aoh, they didn't do nothin', Misteh Wavehly," John intruded, "They weh jus' in th' wrong place a' th' wrong toime."

"Yeh," Richard chimed in,"They don' 'ave t' be punished, do they?"

Mr. Waverly rubbed his chin as he pondered John and Richard's imposition. Then, he looked over at George and Paul and asked, "Is this true, boys?"

"Yes, sihr," Paul nodded earnestly.

"Indeed, Misteh Wavehly," George added.

"Then, you are free to go-WITHOUT punishment," Mr. Waverly dictated finally, gesturing towards the door.

"Thank you, sihr," George and Paul said simultaneously as they headed out.  
As the door shut behind them, Mr. Waverly turned back to the three boys sitting in the wooden chairs in front of him. He cleared his throat, and continued with his lecture.

"Now," he started, "Mr. Lennon and Mr. Best: you both know the rules of this school, an' one VERY important rule is 'no fighting aloud'-"

"Tha'," John interrupted, "Was nev'r made an afficial rule, was it?"

"AHEM," Mr. Waverly interjected firmly, "May I continue?"

"Jus' a bloody ques'ion, is oll," John muttered under his breath, then flinched as his nose was in a great deal of pain and he let out a quiet, "Ow!"

"Who did that to your nose, lad," Mr. Waverly asked taking notice of John's pain.

"Pete," John said with a scowl.

"Did NOT!" Pete lied.

"Did TO, ya li'l-"

"That'll be quite enough!" Mr. Waverly intruded, "Now, Petah, you will receive detention after school today in room B-2 for what you've done."

"HA!" John laughed.

"As will you, Mr. Lennon," Mr. Waverly added quickly turning his attention over to John, "Your nose would not be broken if you hadn't started the fight in the first place."

"Why do ah keep doin' that?!"

"But WAIT, Mr. Waverly," Pete whined, "Look what ELSE 'appened," Pete then pulled up his shirt to reveal his bruised chest and stomach to Mr. Waverly.

"Put tha' thing away," John said disgustedly, "No one in their roight mind wants ta see that- Yeuck!"

"How on earth did that happen," Mr. Waverly asked curiously as he stared at the bruises and lumps covering Pete's body. Richard knew he was going to get it now!

"I'll tell ya how-" Pete began, Richard's face burried in his hands, until Pete was interrupted.

"I did it," John lied bravely. Richard quickly looked up with a surprised look on his face and looked up at John. John was standing straight up, looking straight at Mr. Waverly with no hint of fib on his face. Then, Richard stood up.

"Lad," He bagan, "Sit 'own. Y' don't need t' be protectin' me. Oi did it, sihr."

"Well," Mr. Waverly said confusedly, "Mr. Starkey, being a new student, I must tell you that this is NO way to start things off at Burstol High School, and I'm afraid that you, as well, have detention."

"Yes, sihr," Richard replied bowing his head in shame.

Later that day, John, Richard, and Pete were in room B-2 as scheduled for their detention. They sait in their desks boredly, while the teacher running detention was sleeping at the front of the classroom. The clock read 2:37 in the unusually cold, dull room.

Richard sat there with one hand under his chin while the other was drumming his fingers on the desk, and John took notice of the many beautiful rings that Richard had on his hand. He also noticed the beat that Richard's hands were making, and it was unusual, but unique-like a beat all his own; one that John had never recognized before. However, the drumming stopped when a loud, booming voice broke the silence.

"Ah, this i' stupid," Pete yelled, getting up from his seat putting his coat on. He was nearly out the door when John called, "An' where th' bloody 'ell do ya think yoh goin'?"

"Y' think I'm gonna sit in 'ere for anothah twen'y minets," Pete replied as he ran out into the hallway, he cried a disembodied, "NO THANK YOU."

Richard and John sat there in their seats, shrugged to one another, and started to chat.

"Impohtan' tip 'ere at Burstol High," John began, "Don' find yehself friends loi' Pete Best."

"Believe me, ah won't," Richard replied with a smile, "Oi've already got friends like you, 'aven't I?"

John smiled back, when Richard piped up, "Can ah ask yeh somethin'?"

"Shoot."

"Well, why weh yah gonna take the blame foh me back there?"

"Ah, well, it's yeh fihst day, feh cryin' ou' loud! Nobody desehves t' get in trouble on their fihst day at a new school. An'...it's me way o' sayin' thanks."

" 'Thanks'?"

"Y' know- feh knockin' ol' Petey out foh me when I was down n' out. And feh 'elpin' me out back there when I was scared."

"You were scared?!"

"Lad," John chuckled, "Y' don't 'ave t' lie ta me. You an' I both know I was scared outta me freakin' mind when I came to aftah th' punch."

"Wha' the nurse say, anyways?"

"Gotta leave 'is 'ere cast on for anothah day eh two, an' I'll be smellin' again is no toime."

"Sounds gre- HEHISHOO! *sniff* G-great," Richard said as his teeth chattered. John looked at Ringo and noticed him shivering. The room was pretty cold, but John was quite used to it.

"Here," John said, putting his coat over Richard's shoulders.

"T-t-thanks," Richard replied, with a weak smile. He coughed loudly and wheezily, and then John asked, "Y' catch cold eas'ly, eh?"

"Oh-ho," Richard laughed with a little cough, "Lennon-ya don' even know th' half of it!"

"Why's that?" John asked.

"Why's wot?"

"Why is it tha' yeh take ill so much," John said with a frown.

"Ah, roi'! Well," Richard began, "Guess it goes waaaaaay back t' when we I was jus' a youngin'. Was always in th' infirm'ry, tha' I wa-"

"How old weh ya when ya firs' went?"

"Hmm...six, ah b'lieve," Richard pondered, "With Appendicitis. Would've been let out th' very next day, too, if ah hadn't fallen off th' bloody bed an' slipped into a coma," he chuckled.

"Blimey," John said suprised, "So sorry, mate."

"Ah, don' worry abou' it, lad," Richard laughed, "Tha' wos then, this's now, roi'? Now, ah've a question feh you, if ye don' mind."

"Wot's 'at?"

"Why'd yeh stand up feh me loi' tha'. Y' know when Pete came up t' me an' started firin' off his tongue?"

"Well, 'e was pickin' on yeh, an' yeh jus' too good a pehson to get picked about by a cunt loi' Pete Best. Plus, I believe not a single person on 'is planet's got a roight to judge anotheh pehson- 'specially when they're new t' a place an' need a li'l help from some friends...an' the fact tha' ah hate Pete."

As John spoke, Richard blue eyes twinkled, and the huge smile that he was wearing never left face.

"Now- ah've got two feh you," John continued, "Fihst off, where'd ya get all them rings from?"

Richard looked down at his hands, and shrugged as he replied, "Anywhere ah see 'em."

"Curious," John said, scratching his chin, "Now, feh numbah two: why'd ya beat up Best aftah 'e busted me nose up? Yah jus' met me, an' yet ya went an' ruined yeh reputation foh bein a good, quiet lad fuh my sake! Why?"

"Well," Richard began, clearing his throat, "Ya seemed ta welcome me int' yer group so quickly. Y' know- you weh just acceptin' of me an' whatnot. Nobody's ever made me feel so accepted befoh. Y' made me yeh friend, an' when yah friend can't fight foh 'imself--somebody's got to, roight?

John stood there, baffled by the great explanation that Richard had just given him. Nobody he'd ever been friends with had seemed so appreciative of his friendship. Poor lad, John thought, Must've never even had a friend in the world.

"...and besides tha'," Richard continued, "That Best lad had already pissed me off in Algebra t'day, incase y' were wond'rin'."

John started to laugh, and Richard joined in, then he got into a bit of a coughing fit. Once he finished, he cleared his throat and said, "Now feh you-"

"Ah like this game."

"What'id Pete mean by th' 'Bad Band Brigade'?"

"Well-this's gonna lead into anothah reason why ah hate Pete so much, but 'im, me, Paul, and George were all in this band, an-"

"Wot's the name of it?"

"Does it really mattah," John interrupeted angrily, hiding the fact that the band had no name, "NOW- like ah said- we were all in this band togetheh, and we was gonna do the talent show nex' week featch'rin' th' band, when Pete quit las' minute foh anotheh one."

"Tha's pretty low-down," Richard commented.

"Ya damn right i' tis! Now we haven't a drummah foh the tal-"

"Did you say yah need a droomah," Richard interrupted excitedly.

"Yeah, ya know one," John scoffed.

"Well...yeh-ah do."

"REALLY?!" John cried as he jumped up out of his seat, "He any good?!"

" 'E's alroight, I s'pose," Richard said with a sly smile, "Wots yer address?"

"32 Colmon Way."

"Oi'll send 'im by t'morrow so you can 'ear 'im-"

But Richard was interrupted by a huge John Lennon Bear-Hug.

"Thanks lad!!!"

"..Plaaaay," Richard choked out as John was squeezing him to the point of suffication.

" 'Ow can Oi eveh repay ya?!"

"By...tryin' not t' break me in 'alf-"

"Oh," John said with a laugh as let go of Richard quickly and smoothed out his shirt, "Sorry, mate. But, surely there must be anuthah way ta thank ya!"

"Well," Richard said hastilly, rubbing his chin, when it hit him.

"Lad?"

"Yeah, Richard?"

"...Don't coll me 'Richard'."

"But...but tha's yeh na-"

"Coll me 'Ringo'."

" 'Ring-o'?"

"Ringo," Richard said plainly, smiling, " Y' know: 'cos o' th' rings- 'membah?"

John looked at Richard with a confused look in his eyes, then Richard held up his hands to show his many beautiful rings.

"Oh-ho!" John beamed, suddenly remembering, " 'RING'-O!"

Richard just stood there laughing, eyes wide and an eager smile on his face. John was still a bit confused by the random name change, but he just couldn't help but smile along with Richard-er, Ringo, and nodded his head in agreement.

"Alroight then," John smiled, "Ringo it is."

Seconds later, the bell rang and the two walked out of detention. As they walked down the hall, John turned to Ringo and said, "Rich-um, ah mean, Ringo?"

"Yeh?"

"Somethin' tells me this's the beginnin' of a wonduhfull friendship."


	8. Chapter 8

After school the next day, a cool Friday evening, Paul John and George sat impatiently in John's shabby garage, awaiting the drummer that the new kid at school said he would send by today. George looked over at the clock that read 4:02, and sighed with boredom.

"Johnny," George began, looking from the clock to him, "I think that fellah was jus' pullin' yeh leg."

"Yeah," Paul added angrily,"Or 'e would've sent 'im by now. Face it, 'e ain't showin'."

"Relax, lads," John ushered, "E's a good lad. 'E'll keep 'is wehd, ah know it."

"Maybe, bu-" George started, when they heard a disembodied "HERASHOO" from down the driveway.

"Hoi, lads!" Ringo waved as he walked into the garage, holding something behind his back.

" 'Ey, Ringo," John greeted Ringo with a handshake as Paul and George looked at eachother in confusion.

"...'Ringo'?" they said simultaneously. Ignoring them, John and Ringo began a conversation.

"So, mate," John said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck, "Uh...where's 'at drummah you weh talkin' abou' t'in detention yestuhday?"

Ringo stepped back, pulled out a pair of drumsticks from behind his back and struck a heroic pose as he cried, "Yeh lookin' a' t'im!"

John looked at Paul, Paul looked at George, George looked at John, and finally Paul spoke up.

"Y...you?"

"You drum, Ringo," George asked with a wink of disbelief, "Feh how long?"

" 'S long as Oi can r'membah," Ringo said proudly, "Back when it wos me first visit to th' infir'mry, me Dad brought me in a red tom-tom befoh me operation: changed me loife, tha' it did."

"Dja get th' drum befoh er aftah y' woke up from yeh coma," John joked, and George and Paul just stared at him in disbelief.

"Oh, funny," Ringo replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes-though not taking it to heart any, but just as a joke, "Nah-befoh. But me Mum said all she remembehs me wantin' t' do aftah ah woke up was play me drooms again."

There was an awkward pause, when Paul spoke up.

"So," Paul cleared his throat, "Tha's ya fihst mem'ry, eh?"

"Huh?"

"Well, ya said yi'd been playin' 'as long as y' could remembuh', and seein' tha' ya started playin' when you weh in the hospital wing as a youngin'-"

"Ah-yeah," Ringo smiled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "Fihs' mem'ry. Bu'--no biggy, roigh'?"

"Stu said stuff like tha' all the time," George whispered as he crossed his arms and stared whistfully into outer-space thinking about their old, passed over bassist, "Always saw the glass 'alf-full, tha' 'e did...an' you're a lot like 'im, y' know."

He looked back at Ringo when he said this, who was now sitting at the throne before a drum set. George looked into his soft blue eyes and saw the face of his old friend Stu. George's eyes became wide for a moment, and then he shook his head in disbelief-noticing that Paul and John were staring at him.

The three boys looked at eachother when John stepped up and cleared his throat.

"Well," John began, "If we based this 'ere band on frien'ship, then, Rings, ya'd be a shoe-in. Unfortch'nately, weh VERY serious 'bout our music an' we need someone who can really bring i' t'on 'ome."

One thing that was very peculiar about John Lennon was that no matter how much he liked you-when it came down to music, he was nobody's friend. Ringo sat very still with drumsticks held tight in his fists. He looked up at John with hungry eyes, twirled his sticks, and finally said, "Well, y' can't judge me droomin' 'til ya hear me, can ya? So, let's stop tolkin' so Oi can staht playin'."

John was surprised by Ringo's reaction. He was trying to strike fear into him-like he did with Pete, and Pete pathetically begged and pleaded to be accepted into the band; giving in to John's threatening aire- but not Ringo. No, he was strong and confident-and it showed. John couldn't help but smile a little, seeing that Ringo had said what he said with certainty and a little smile on his face, as he gave Ringo an order for the first part of his "audition".

"Play out a beat-"

"Common time o' fouh-quatah?"

John looked surprised by Ringo's sharp wit.

"Like this," John clapped out a beat, saying, "One-an'-two-an'-pause-Three-Fouh..one-an'-two-an'-three-an'fouh."

"TAP! TAP--TAP! TAP!--TAP!-TAP!-TAP!-TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!"

Paul and George were already a little impressed, but John just stood there arms crossed, studying Ringo as he repeated the beat a few more times. Why had he looked so happy to play a dumb-little beat?

"Try this, now," John clapped out a different beat, "A-five, six, seven, eight: one-two-three-an'-one-two-three---one-two--three-four."

Ringo rose his sticks high in the air and clicked out 'A-five, six, seven, eight' and began to play," TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!---TAP! TAP!--TAP!TAP!"

The lad's betteh than ah thought 'e'd be, John thought, If this don't get 'im-nothin' will.

"Alroigh', Starkey," John said, rubbing his chin, "How 'bout....a full solo done in common time fah fouh measures, fah stahtehs, then switched oveh t' double time with...a crash a' two, an' then eigh' measures o' quadruple time, with freestyle fo abou', oh....two minets long. Think yeh can 'andle that?"

Ringo stared at John wide eyed and gulped. Paul and George looked at John like he was a crazy person, and John just stood there staring at Ringo, when Ringo asked cooley and calmly, "How wouldja like oll tha': done in 'fortissimo' on the downbeat, ah pressume? O' 'pianissimo', pehaps with a two-bar clave?"

Though it didn't show on the outside, John was completely baffled on the inside: as Ringo seemed none-to-bright at school and in detention, when it came to drumming, the thoughts of intelligence flowed like water. John, being a little embarrassed that he wasn't aware with any of the terms that Ringo had just mentioned, he merely smerked and said, "Suhprise me."

Ringo soon began to play, and it simply blew the other three's minds. The syncopation was beyond compare as the cymbals crashed. The dynamics were incredible! The sustained rythm he was keeping excited the three wide-eyed boys, and all the while Ringo was playing, he kept a happy look on his face the entire time. "TAP! TAP! TAP!" went the acoustic. "BANG! BANG! BANG!" went the bass. The sound was unbelievable! Throughout the whole audition, even through the two-minute freestyle, Ringo bobbed his head happily and looked as giddy as a school-boy. This was a beat unlike any other the boys had ever heard before.

"TEMPO! TEMPO!" John cried over the loud drumming to Ringo. Ringo just smiled, nodded, and kept playing.

"He's in, isn't 'e?" Paul said with a smile.

" 'S at a trick question?" John smiled with a wink.

"Stu woulda loved this," George follied to himself.

Finally, the drumming had stop, and Ringo was sitting there panting-trying to catch his breath from all of the crazy drum-moves that John had pushed him to do. John then walked over to Ringo, backed up by Paul and George, and said sternly at first, "Lad..." and Ringo just bowed his head in shame, when John applauded slowly, shot out a hand to his, and shook it as he said with a smile, "Welcome to the band."

Ringo looked at John's hand for a minute in surprise, as the others cheered, and threw himself into John with joy. They all laughed, even John as he said, "Ge-het the bloody he-ell off a' me!" Once Ringo had hopped off of John, John smoothed out his shirt and declared, "Alroigh' boys-we go' a talen' show in three days-let's get ta wehk!"

"JOOOONNY!"

"Oh! That is, aftah tea, o' course," John said before racing inside, "Comin', auntie!"  
And as the other boys followed behind him, Ringo looked back at the garage in awe and said to himself, _"Finally...friends."_


	9. Chapter 9

Finally-the big night had arrived. It was 7:04 crowd inside of Burstol High's auditorium began filling up by the hundreds. George had poked his head out from behind the curtain so he could watch the entire auditorium fill up with entertainment-hungry peers, words that would be sure to swell with ridicule if the band messed up. George gulped, pulled his head back from behind the curtain walked up to John, Paul, and Ringo as they were tuning up their instruments.

"T-t-there's a full house out there," George stuttered as sweat began to form across his forhead, and the rest of his body as well, for that matter.

John, Paul and Ringo walked over to the opening in the curtain to see for themselves.

"Blimey," Paul beamed.

"Well, oi'll be damned," Ringo started, "I's the whole blinkin' school ou' there!"

"Well, ain't they in feh one helluva show, eh, lads," John said turning to both Paul and Ringo before shooting his head back from behind the curtain.

"Boy- c'n you believe we're back stage preppin' foh our fihst ever gig?" Paul said excitedly.

"Jus' imagine all those kids ou' there," Ringo said wistfully, "Listenin' to our music, takin' i'tall in--what if this makes us famous?!"

"Ah think these 'ere lights ah gettin' to yeh, lad," John joked, "We ain't gonna git famous from this! This's jus' somethin' that's gonna get us a bit moh populah with the birdies," he added with a wink.

"I'd say we warm up befo-OOF!"

But Paul was knocked over by some large thug that held a bass-case in his arms-which was used both to hold the base and knock Paul to the ground. Behind the over-sized teenager was none other than Pete Best. He walked out casually from behind the skyscraper with feet and laughed as the three other boys tried to help Paul up.

"So," Pete said finally after he was done laughing, "How're th' "No-Names" gonna do their band-act without a drummah?"

"We've got one, Besty," John replied coldly, getting chest to chest with Pete, "An' 'e's twoice the drummah you EVEH wos."

"Uh, John-" Paul whispered, "Y' might wanna move back a step: jus' got yeh cast off, y' know."

John looked at Paul a moment then looked back at Pete and moved back.

"So, yeh've found a new drummeh, ey," Pete eyed John as he paced around him, "An' who migh' tha' li'l losah be? Wha' wos he last, hm? A membah of the chess club, roigh'?"

"WRONG," Ringo interjected walking up to Pete face to face, " 'E was the one 'at kicked yer arse in the lunch-room las' Thusday."

John and Paul tried to smother their laughter as they stood back and watched Ringo pull a smart-ass insults about the fight.

"Woy, Oi'm proud o' ya, Petey," Ringo cooed, pinching Pete's cheek,"No tears 'is toime. Wot- still oll cried ou', are yeh? "

"Laugh while ya can, Starkey," Pete said nastilly, " 'Cos one li'l foul-up out there in fron' of an audience, an' yer li'l band'll be laughed outta Liverpool."

George stared nervously at Pete after he said that and gulped, while John smirked and chimed in, "We ain't a band like your lot, Best. We ain't gonna foul-up 'cos weh good. An' if you lads weh even 'alf as good 's we ah, you'd keep yeh tongues tied and stop tryin' t' scare ous-'cos I'm damn sure it ain' wehkin'." Though, John had not look behind him to find George biting his nails anxiously.

"Why, I oughta-" Pete started, raising his fist, when the announcer boomed from the front of the stage.

"ATTENTION, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN- WE AH MOH THEN PLEASED T' INTRODUCE T' YOU THIS YEAH'S TALENT SHOW! WITH THE HELP OF YOUH APPLAUSE, WE WILL DETEHMINE A WINNAH OF THIS YEAH'S BURSTOL HIGH'S MOST TALENTED! AN' NOW, ON WITH THE SHOW!"

As the audience clapped, one of Best's croonies came up from behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon, Pete," he said, "Let's go wahm up a bit."

Pete followed his band mate-eyes still fixed on Ringo. Ringo waved as Pete walked away, while John and Paul walked up to him giving him a high-five and a pat on the back.

The clock on the backstage wall read 8:54 when John began to get a little nervous. He called the band in a huddle.

"Alroi' lads," he said a bit shakily,"Now, we go on afteh Pete's band comes off, s-so let's go oveh the lyrics, eh."

John held the piece of paper tight in his grasp, and his hands were shaking so rapidly that Paul couldn't even read it. He looked at John who had little beads of sweat forming among his brow and was looking a bit anxious.

"Alrigh' theh, John," Paul asked nervously, "Y' look a li'l pale."

"F-fine- why wouldn' oi," John replied nervously, "I-i mean- theh's nothin' t' be nehvous abou', roi'? Jus' a silly li'l show:...i-in fact, out FIHST silly li'l show, in fron' of a silly li'l audience, of SILLY HUNDREDS O' PEOPLE!"

Then, John hypervenilated for a minute, then turned to look at Paul who was just staring at the spazzed-out moment that John had just had. He smiled, stroked his hair back and cleared his throat.

"Perfectly fine."

"Oiy," Ringo piped, looking around, "Wheh's George?"

"He ain' here," Paul replied worriedly, "He was 'ere a minet ago. Where could 'e've gone?!"

"I dunno an' I don't care," John replied, "But we've bettah find 'im an' find 'im FAST. We go on in 5 minets!"

"Let's spli' up- we'll covuh moh groun' 'at way."

"Gear idear', Rings," Paul agreed.

"Agreed," John muttered seriously, "Now-SEARCH!"

The boys scattered themselves among the backstage, John and Paul going stage left, and Ringo headed stage right. He searched among the sets and prop boxes that the school used for their shows. Ringo looked up on a wooden platform- he wasn't there. He looked in the trap door-no George there, either. He nearly decided to give up hope as he sat down on a dusty chair. As he sat down, he pushed a cloud of saw-dust and debry(from all the wood-work) behind him, and he piped up when he heard a muffled 'HMFSHOO!'. Ringo looked over the top of the chair to find his young friend, George sitting among the broken sets, itching his nose. George then looked up and smiled a cheeky smile-knowing that he was in trouble.

"Haha," George tried to joke, "You...found me?"

Ringo stared angrily from over top of the chair with disapproving blue eyes fixed on George's innocent brown ones. George's smile slowly faded to frown and a sigh as he stared at his feet with shame. Ringo hopped off the chair and sat down next to George.

"Lad-" Ringo began sternly, "Wheh the bloody 'ell 'ave you been?! Playin' hoide an' seek loi' a li'l kid! We've been worried sick abou' yah, son! Now, c'mon- we're on in a few minu-"

And as Ringo tried to tug George and lead him out to the others, George hesitated and stared at Ringo. Ringo's angry blue eyes quickly faded into concerned one. He then stood up muttering 'Alroi' then' under his breath, held out a hand to George, pulled him up, and then placed both hands on George's shaky shoulders. Ringo tried to get George to focus, but he was all gittery: looking around nervously-like a lost puppy in the street; wide-eyed and not seeming to know where you were or what was going on, and all you knew was that you were scared.

"Wot's gotten into ya, lad," Ringo said softly and comfortingly, with a hint of concern in his voice, "Yeh shakin' loi' a leaf."

George sighed unsteadily as he wiped his forhead with the back of his unsteady hand. He was sweating up a storm. Luckilly, Ringo took notice and handed him his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his forhead off with. Once he did, George was about to give it back when Ringo looked down on it with a rather disgusted look on his face.

"Eh...you can keep it"

George shrugged and stuffed the hankie in his pocket.

"Now," Ringo started, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulders, though due to the height difference it was a bit difficult to reach, "I'm jos' gonna take a random stab in the dahk, 'ere, bu'-ah'm get'in' th' feelin', lad, tha' you've got quite a bit o' stage froigh', havn't yeh?"

George stood there quite for a minute, staring at the ground, when he threw his hands up exassperatedly and yelled, "Ah jus' don' wanna be laughed a' any moh!"

"'Any moh'," Ringo repeated with a wink, "Whaddya mean 'any moh'?"

"Eveh since I moved up a grade," George began, "Ah've been laughed at fah bein' too smart. Evah since Ah've skipped up, Ah've been known as th' 'odd-ball' o' the 'braniac', or....the freak. An' what with all that Pete said 'bout messin' up, and the audience! When Principal Wavehly asked me t' skip up t' the eleventh grade, Ah thought it'd be gear. Now, ah jus' wish tha'--tha'..."

George started to sniffle a little, then turned his head to the side, trying to hide the fact that he was rubbing angrily at the tears that were growing in his eyes.

"Ya jus' wish," Ringo finished his sentence, placing a hand on George's shoulder, "Tha' ya neveh skipped up?"

George nodded with his eyes closed. Then looked up to the and outward, with an angry look on his face. Then he started up again.

"Maybe--MAYBE if I hadn't skipped up a grade, Ah'd be accepted, a-an' people'd think I'm fab--an'--"

" 'Ang on, 'ang on," Ringo interrupted shaking his head, "Now, jus' cleah ya head, lad--Now, fah one thing: nobody's gonna be laughin' at us, you undahstand? An' Oi don't wantcha worryin' about that t'noight. An' abou' those kids--y' don't even realize 'ow jealous they ah, do yeh," He said with a laugh, "D' you even know wot most of 'em kids'd give jus' ta get a golden oppahtunity loi' the one you got? Oll the kids 'at laughed atcha-if THEY weh smaht enough t' skip up, y' know they'd do i'too. But': fact o' the mattah is, Geo, they ain't-an' you are."

George placed a hand on his head, and scratched it for a moment. Then, he looked back at Ringo suprisedly with a little smile.

"They're jealous?"

"Ah, well," Ringo shrugged, "Not so sure abou' them...but ah know Oi am," he replied with a wink.

George smiled even more as Ringo continued.

"An' ya shouldn't pay attention t' wot othas may think abou' ya; cos the only opinion that should mattah t' you is the one comin' from tha' fellah oveh theh," Ringo pointed to a mirror used as a prop for one of the school shows, and as George looked into it, he smiled full-out and happily.

"B'soides," Ringo added, looking into the mirror along with George, "Ah don't see a 'freak', or an 'odd-ball'-in fact...Oi see a pretty great kid with a broigh' futcha ahead of 'im. Though, the li'l fat-nosed lad next to 'im seems a bit shady."

George laughed as he looked at Ringo next to him in the mirror. The two friends then turned away from the mirror and to eachother to face eachother.

"An' wot Pete said abou' messin' oup ou' theh in fron' of an audience an' th' whole lot of 'em laughin' a'tous," Ringo continued, " 'e only said oll tha' on account a' HE'S worried abou' lookin' like a fool, an' tryin' t' get us oll worked oup so we won't play good."

"Well."

Ringo looked at George confusedly.

"I-it's 'well'" George dictated, "Not 'good'."

"Eithah way," Ringo continued as he smacked his hand on George's shoulder, looking him in the eyes, "Geo- you, Oi, Paul an' John ah goin' ou' on this stage tonoi' TOGETHAH- tha' means if the audience laughs a' one of us-they laugh a' all of us. They clap fah one of us-they clap fah all of us. All of us, o' none of us-THAT'S what bands're oll abou'! They stick togetheh through i'toll- when one of ous goes down, we ALL do. True companionship against oll th' odds. That's a true-blue band! That's wot we ah!...That's friendship...Oi think. I wouldn't really know-you, Paul an' John ah the fihst ones ah've eveh had, really," he shrugged.

George pondered what Ringo had said, and finally replied, "You're right, Ringo. That IS friendship."

George then started walk center-backstage when he heard behind him, "Where'r yeh goin'?!"

He ran back to Ringo, grabbed his forearm, and pulled him, answering, "To find the othehs. We've got a show t' do."

Ringo smiled and followed him as he tugged. They finally found John and Paul looking outside from behind the stage left curtain laughing up a storm.

"Um...fellas," George began sheepishly, "Sorry abou' runnin' off like tha'. I jus' thou-"

"...haha! oh-oh! Huh?, oh- 's alroi', George," John answered giggling.

Paul was cackling like a hyena, and George and Ringo were just looking at eachother not understanding the hilarity that was taking place.

"Now, wot the devil's so funny?" Ringo asked curiously.

"Just look," Paul answered laughing as he pushed Ringo and George in the direction of the open curtain. First all they saw were the audience members, who were getting a kick out of something as well as John and Paul. They then looked over to find Pete Best bashing the drums horribley out of beat with the song and screatching at the top of his lungs.

"WE WAS STROOOOLIN' ALONG----WOOOOOOOOOOOOOH--ON--ONMOONLOI' BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY----Y' CAN 'ERE THE......AW, HAA! AH NEVEH REMEMBEH TH' PAHT AFTAH THA'!!! YAMAAAWHOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOO-WAHAAA--"

Ringo shut the curtain in astonishment as George began to crack up. He turned back around to John and Paul, and said chuckling, "Aha-h'lroi', whi-hich one a' you spiked 'is wotah?

"Guilty as chahged," John replied sarcastically, holding out his arms as if he was about to be handcuffed.

"When we weh lookin' fah you, George," Paul added, "We spotted Pete's wotah bottle an'-"

"I jus' happened t' spill a bit a' rum in theh," John shrugged, then looking back out at Pete from behind the curtain. He closed it back up again and laughed, "The li'l bastad's oll drunkin' out afteh one freakin' drop."

"YES, UM- THAT WAS--UM, WELL, ACTUALLY-I'M NOT QUITE SURE WHAT THAT WAS," the announcer called, "AND COMING UP SHORTLY WE HAVE--"JOHN, GEORGE, PAUL AND...'PONGO'...?"

"OIY," Ringo yelled from behind the curtain, "THA'S 'RINGO'!"

"YES-THANK YOU," the announcer replied, " JOHN, GEORGE, PAUL AND 'RINGO'."

As the four boys walked onto the front of the stage and took their places, George stood wide-eyed, staring at the crowd. 'Uh oh, George thought, I'm think I'm gonna be sick.' He nearly ran off the stage when he looked over at the rest of his band-his team: his friends. 'When one of ous goes down, we ALL do.' The sentence echoed over and over in George's head as he looked over at his smiling friends. 'They wouldn't let me down-so I'm not gonna let THEM down.' He took a deep breath, and smiled back at them. Ringo clicked his sticks together to set the beat, and the music fired away.

After the performance, the audience was in an uproar! The crowd went wild with excitement-not a person sitting down in the whole joint, but all giving a standing ovation to these four very talented boys. John, George, Paul and Ringo all looked over at eachother, then out to the audience and took a bow. A smile plastered on their faces-filled with excitement and joy. Their first CONCERT! After about five minutes of applauding, the announcer approached the stage.

"WELL, IT SEEMS WE HAVE A WINNER," the announcer cried, "AND THEY ARE...."

As the four of them took the trophy, John took the microphone and they all yelled simultaneously, "THE 'NO-NAMES'!"


	10. Chapter 10

The morning after the concert, Paul McCartney dashed out of his house, nearly forgetting his lunch again, across the many streets over to John Lennon's house, and was about to knock on the door when John came trotting out with a left-over chicken-leg for Paul to nibble on for breakfast. They then sprinted over to George's house to find him sitting on the front porch swing. He dashed down the steps of the stoop, but was stopped by a loud, pitchy 'GEOOOOGIE!' and ran back up quickly to kiss his mother good-bye. Though he was quite ready to let go, Mrs. Harrison was not, and George pried her off of him and ran over to John and Paul.

The three boys ran down the street, and finally they reached a little red house to which the Starkey's now owned and lived in. Mr. and Mrs. Starkey were out on the lawn when they arrived, waving to the boys as they waved back, and Ringo ran outside the front door of his house and over to his mother. He sweetly kissed her good-bye on the cheek and waved to his father. As the boys headed in the direction of school, Mr. and Mrs. Starkey worked together to pull the heavy 'For Sale' sign out of the ground. As Mr. Starkey threw it into the garbage heap, he wiped his hands off, place one of them around his wife's waist, and watched their boy head off to school with his new-found friends.

After school that day, John, Paul, Ringo and George were just hanging around the Harrison household-in George's bedroom, to be exact. They sat on the floor: Paul with bass in hand, and John having a pretzel fight with Ringo. All of them were laughing and having a great time, and George just sat quiet to himself-looking up at his bookshelf on the wall to see the talent show trophie up there. "1st Prize" it said. 'Fihst prize,' George thought contentedly with a smile, staring up at the trophie, 'An' t' think if I'd ran off tha' stage like ah planned to, that shelf'd be-'

"OW!" George yipped as thoughts were interrupted, rubbing the back of his head, first turning to the ground and picked up a pretzel, and then at John and Ringo. They both just briefly looked at George, then eachother, turned back to George and smiled their best good-little-boy smiles they could muster.

"Sorry, Geo," John giggled, "Didn' mean it."

George just waved his hand in the air as if to say "Forget about it" and turned back to his trophie. He then said quietly, but with excitement, "Lads- we did i'. We FINALLY did it! We took fihst prize of the BURSTOL HIGH TALENT SHOW!!"

The boys cheered and raised up their Coke bottles for a toast led by John.

"To- The No-Names!" John cried raising his glass bottle high. After they all tapped glass and took a sip, Paul piped up, "Ugh- the 'NO-names..."

"We DO need ta find a name, Len," George agreed, "Can't be the 'No-Names' all ouh lives."

"Well, 'ow abou' this then," John cleared his throat and said in a girlish voice, "The Quarrymen!"

"Agh-gag me, woi dontcha!" Ringo replied, grabbing his throat.

"Somethin' else," Paul added.

"Well- what abou'....'Johnny and the Moondogs'," John stated.

"Hmmmmm...No."

"Absolutely not!"

Ringo saw no use to reply, so he just threw a pillow at John's face with an 'OOMPH!'

John looked up from the pillow and shrugged, "Well, ah loiked it!"

"Ah we can think up a name latah," Paul shrugged, "Roi' now- let's remenice on las' noi', eh?"

"Well- I dunno 'bout you oll," John began, "Bu' MY personal fave'rite was that tart, Best, singin' out loi' a druken sailoh."

"The lad nearly fell head-fihs' oveh the bloody set," Ringo laughed, "An' only a drop o' rum ya slipped 'im, wot a li'l puss!"

"Oh-ho! Eh, look lads- mah li'l book o' birdies is neahly full," Paul sang picking up an address/phone number organizer as the other boys whistled and hooted. He flipped to a random page, and read out loud, "Michelle.....MaBelle. Hmm- cute name. Oi'll see YOU nex' Satuhday."

"Did you lads hea' tha' crowd las' night? Didn't think a li'l bunch a people crowded up in a cramped auditorium'd eveh be so excited!"

"Yeah, George," John smiled crossing his arms cheekily, "An' you yehself looked ratheh excited up theh as well. 'Looked like you was abou' t' be takin' short right there on stage!"

As Paul laughed from across the floor, Ringo looked at him, smacked him lightly on the arm, and Paul crossed his hands together and stared at the ground solumnly.

"Now, Ringo," George called, "Come oveh 'ere so we can go ovah some vocabulary."

"Aww- c'mon, Geo," Ringo whined, "Y' know Oi'm no good a' 'vocab-yalary'."

"Exactly why we need to focus on that mos' of all,"George replied, waggling a finger, "Now, scoot over 'ere an' ah'll quiz yeh on some wohds."

George put on his reading glasses, which resembled those of John's, only a bit thicker-rimmed and black, and did not suit him quite as well as John's did. Paul let out a loud 'HA' and then tried smothering his laughter with his hands, and John just sitting there snorting and chortling to himself. George looked up from the vocabulary book and glared at John and Paul. The two quickly took notice of George's deadly stare and crossed their hands in silence.

"Alrigh' then," George started, "Let's begin. Now, I'll say the wohd to yeh, Rings, an' you spell it back t' me, aye?"

"Aye," Ringo groaned.

" Now, las' time we did this, we left off a' 'B' so, 'Black'."

"B-L-A-C-K."

"Good: 'Bird'."

" 'B-I-R-D'."

"Woi yeh givin' 'im such easy ones," John interrupted, " He ain't in bloody fihs' grade!"

"As a lad," Ringo replied, "It took me quite a toime ta leahn me 'ABC's an' oll. So George's tryin' t' help me spell an' th' lot so when we do ouh nex' song Oi'll know the wohds to it by one glance."

"Well," Paul intruded, "Ah doubt we'll be doin' any songs abou' 'blackbihds', eh?"

"Now, wheh wos I....ah yes! 'Beetle'."

"B-E-A-T-L-E"

George, Paul and John all looked over at eachother, and at the same time, cried, " 'A'?"

"No-Ringo," George giggled, "Theh's no 'A' in 'Beetle'!"

"Haha, yeah," John scoffed, "Nex' we'll be spellin' football with two 'U's an' a 3."

"Jus' imagine," Paul laughed, " A beetle with an 'A'."

"Heck, woi no' two?" Ringo laughed to join in on the fun.

"O' three," John chimed in, "O' fouh," George cried.

"Haha, the four b-e-A-t-l-e-s," Paul laughed as the four boys gathered in a huddle, "Imagine that."

But their huddle was broken quickly when they all stirred when they heard a shrill-

"GEORGIE!! OH, GEOOOOOORGIE, DEAH!!"

John, Paul and Ringo started snickering, as George groaned as he yelled back, "Wot is i', Mothah?!"

THEH'S A VERY NOICE MAN A' THE DOOH T' SEE YA- ACT'IALLY ALL A YAS!"

"All of us," Paul repeated concernedly.

"Somethin' don't sound to keen to me on this 'ere 'very noice man', you?" George added turning to John.

"Not a'tall. Les go meet this 'very noice man', shall we?" John stated seriously starting for the steps. George and Paul followed right behind him, while Ringo grabbed a cricket stick which was held at the ready and the empty pretzel bowl to wear on his head as sort of a helmet/head-and-face protector, and then walked tip-toed out of the room and slowly down the steps.

The four boys walked up to Mrs. Harrison who was standing in the door way with the mystery-visitor. As they came up to Mrs. Harrison, she pulled her son into her bussom and began kissing his head all over.

"M-MOM! ST-YUCK! STOP THAT! PFEH! ICK!" George cried trying to fight his way out of his mother's grasp, wiping of the lipstick marks that were now all over his cheek and face.

"Oh, sorry, love," his mother replied, pinching his left cheek, "Oi jus' love me li'l Georgie-Weorgie, yes ah do! Yes ah do! Yes ah-"

"MOTHAH!!" George screamed at the top of his lungs, face red with embarrassement and lipstick, as the other three boys tried so hard to stifle thier laughter.

"Ahem," the gentleman in the doorway cleared his throat, making sure they had not forgotten him. He looked like a fairly well-dressed man, and a few years older than the boys.

"Well, Oi'll jus' let you boys chat then, eh," Mrs. Harrison turned around and as she walked back into her kitchen, Paul John and Ringo all lowered their heads for a kiss.

"A pecky for James," She began kissing Paul on the forhead, "A pecky for Jonathen," and kissed his forhead, "An' a pecky fo- oh my." Mrs. Harrison noticed that Ringo was wearing a big bowl on his head and a cricket stick behind his back.

"What-ehm-...wot's yeh name, deah?"

"Richard Starkey, ma'am," He replied, still beant down for a kiss.

"Lad," George called, "You came PREPARED!"

Mrs. Harrison looked over at her son, rolled her eyes, and then pecked Ringo on the nose as she said, "An' a pecky foh Richie."

After she had left and the boys stood up straight, they walked over to the man in the door way and stared at him. John, as usual was the first to speak up.

"Oi'll be frank, 'ere, an' say ah've neveh seen ya a day in me loife."

"But I'VE seen you."

The four boys looked at eachother with shock and fright.

"No, no," the gentleman laughed, "Not anything like THAT!"

"Well, sir," George piped up, "Then...um.."

"Wot th' 'ell do ya wont with us." John intruded, arms crossed and looking very tough and a bit angry.

"Last night," the man began, reaching into his pocket, "I hosted the Burstol High Talent Show; and I specific'lly remembehed your act. An', I must say-congratulations. Anyways, my name is Brian Epstein, an'-"

"Wai' a minet," Ringo interrupted, "Ah remembeh you! Yeah! You weh the fellah who messed me name up, roi'?"

"Guilty as charged," the man said rubbing his arm shyly, "Pretty sure I called yeh 'Pongo' o' somethin'."

"Well, it's act'ially-"

"CAN'T YOU TWO TALK OF THIS OVAH TEA, A' SOMETHIN'?!" John interjected loudly.

"Now," Paul added a little more calmly, "Mr...Epstein, is it? Please continue."

"Ah yes," Mr. Epstein said, "An' please- call me Brian. So, like I was sayin'-my name is Bria Epstein and I'm the manager over at EMI Studios. You kids have real potential, and-"

"Wait, wait," George interrupted, " 'S-studios'? You mean- you're a record producer?!"

"Well, yes, an' I figured that when you boys are a bit older, maybe you'd consider joining me over at EMI Studios," he said handing a card to John Lennon.

"Y-you mean- you' re off'ring us....A RECORD DEAL." Paul asked, hardly believing his ears.

"Once you've finished up school, an' whatnot, that's EXACTLY what I plan to do. Boys- you're gonna be FAMOUS!"

They all began to jump up and down, cheering and hooting and hollering with joy and excitement. Mrs. Harrison came out of the kitchen to see what all the ruccus was about, and before she even got the chance to say "WHAT THE-" she was picked up by her son and kissed several times on the cheek. The intensity of excitement and energy rushed through the boys' veins; they were going to have a RECORD DEAL!

"Haha!" Brian laughed, "An' jus' so I have somethin' to tell the boys upstairs if they ask which way I'm goin' with things, I wanna make sure I have your band name down."

Brian pulled out a piece of paper and pencil, waiting for the boys to respond. John, Paul, George and Ringo looked at eachother concernedly, when Paul stepped up to Brian and said, "Mr. Epstein--we are...The Beatles."


	11. Epilogue

**How It All Began-Epilogue ****by ~****thebeatlegeek94**

.....Five years later....  
One cold November afternoon, a large limousine pulled up to a building surrounded by press and screaming teenage girls that was scheduled for a press-conference that day. When the car stopped, the one who first walked out of the passenger's seat door was an older looking Brian Epstein with sunglasses covering his eyes as he started for the door of the building where the press-conference was to be held.

Next out of the limo was Paul McCartney. He looked still the way he did back in his high school days, only his dark brown hair wasn't curly like it had been. His baby-face, however, had kept with him through the years, though not as many freckles, and he waited on the other side of the door for another Beatle to step out of the van.

John stepped out next, and he, too, no longer had his Sherley-Temple locks of brown hair. He had matured greatly, facial-wise, and was a bit taller than he was back then. John stood there, staring at the press making funny faces at them every few seconds, (still with that same sense of humor he'd had) and turned to Paul who was just shaking his head laughing.

Then, out came George. He had grown much taller, but still kept the same face and eyes with a piercing stare. His hair had kept its volume, but, likethe others, had lost its curl and was longer. Eyes calm and happy, he looked at John and Paul who looked back with contentment, as he looked back in the limo to help his friend out of his seat.

Finally, Ringo scooted out of the limo, George pulling him out, and shut the door behind him. His height not changing much, he looked up at his friends with happy blue eyes twinkling. His hair, too, had no curl left to it, and was worn a bit longer. His nose was still as large as it had always been, seeing that he hadn't grown into it, and he still had his little white spot in his hair.

The girls hooted and hollered, but then were shooed away by the press.

"Alroi'," The police officer scolded, waving his hands wildly, "You ladies 'ad betteh get along or Oi'll phone all yeh mothas tha' yeh've been taken in!"

Disappointedly, the girls walked away from the scene quietly, and the press walked into the large building to prepare for the conference.

The Beatles stood there by themselves for a moment, when Paul noticed George shivering.

"Brrr...I-it's b-b-bloomin' f-freezin' out 'ere," George complained, hugging himself for warmth.

"W-w-whaddya expect, it's friggin' N-n-novembah," John shivered, rubbing his cold arms rapidly, trying to create a friction to warm them, "Now, whoy ain' we wolkin' in with the press, then? Where it's WAHM?"

"We need a few minutes o' sanity, don' we," Paul shrugged, "Ah mean-once we're in there, we've gotta ansah all these bloody stupid questions from the blinkin' press that we've ansahed ova a THOUSAND toimes! If we don' give ourselves a minet a' two ta gather ouhselves, well, I don' know about alla you-but I'd go completely bonkahs!"

"Agreed," Ringo replied, lighting up a cigarette, "Ah say we jus' go ahead an' take ouh-."

"BOOOOOOOOOYS!"

"...Toime."

"BOYS," Brian called from the door of the building, "Wot the bloody 'ell is takin' yeh so long?! The press's been waiting an eternity!"

"Moh loi' five minets, Eppy," John replied smartly.

"Regahdless," Brian added, "We're VERY behind schedule- we've still got an interview coming up latah, a-and a recohding session in the evening--an' TOMORROW-"

"We get it, Brian," Paul interrupted, "We'll only be two minets."

"ONE."

"Agreed, sir," Paul mutter sarcastically.

"We''l be theh, Brian," George called.

"Ol' fart," John whispered.

"WHAT WAS THAT, MR. LENNON? I DON'T BELIEVE I-"

" ALL AH SAID WAS 'FOINE'!" John yelled back at him, before turning back around and mummbling, "Jesus, Christ! Ol' bastahd's is gonna give me a bloomin' heart murmur, o' somethin'..."

The Beatles headed up the walk way, identical clothing on their backs, when Ringo stopped and let out a loud, muffled, "HEROUSHOO!"

"Bless," Paul turned back.

As George handed Ringo his handkerchief, John looked at him with arms crossed and said, "Ah, Rings, don' tell me- ya caugh' draft again!?"

"Ah can' 'elp Oi've got a shitey ammune system, John," Ringo replied, blowing his nose. He was going to give it back to George when George said, disgustedly, "Uhm...Ringo--"

"Roi'," Ringo remembered and stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket.

They walked up the large white steps, and into the large room where the press was waiting anxiously with their questions. They sat down in front of a huge crowd and looked at eachother boredly as the press started firing off questions.

"MISTAH LENNON," one reported cried, "OOH, MISTAH LENNON- IS I' TRUE THAT YOU'RE THE SMART-ONE O' THE BEA-"

"OOH-OOH, PAUL," another cried, "LOOK 'ERE! UM--WHY IS IT THA' YOU THINK THE LADIES THINK YOU'RE THE PRETTIEST ONE O-"

"RINGO! RINGO! IS IT TRUE THAT YOU DIDN'T LEARN TO READ 'TIL YOU WERE-"

"GEORGE-WHAT DO YOU CALL YOUR HAIRSTYLE?!"

"ALROI', alroi'," Brian yelled, "Settle down, folks- one a' a toime."

"Yes," Ringo said, reffering to the reporter's question.

"Arthur," George answered with a laugh.

"Indeed, it is so," John replied with a sly grin.

"Guess it's in the eyes, ah s'pose," Paul grinned.

Brian rubbed his temples, and looked out to the reporters.

"You there," he pointed to one raising his hand, "Go on, then. Wot's yeh question?"

"Um--'Beatles'?" He said shyly, "Only 'cos yeh've neveh been asked this befoh--"

"Oo-hoo: a challenge," John interrupted, as the whole room laughed.

"Wot's yeh question, lad," Paul said after the laughter died down.

"Well--I was jus' a bit curious, but...when did all of you act'ially meet? Y' know- when did ya become...The Beatles?"

As the room of reporters started to clamour with commotion, brainstorming all kinds of questions from the reporter's simple one, the boys looked at eachother and scratched their chins. They huddled for a moment, when Paul spoke up.

"Alroi', alroi' everyone," Paul yelled as the reporters hushed, "Getcha pens at th' ready, an' get comf'table, 'cos it's kind'f a long story, eh lads?"

He turned back to the rest of the Beatles who nodded their heads as they began to laugh: thinking back to all their memories of high school-winning the talent show, and everything in between.

"Okay now- ah hope yeh ready! 'Cos now we're gonna tell alla yahs how it all began..."

~FIN~


End file.
